Melancholy's Duet
by AraschiaFiare
Summary: When Christine enters her afterlife, the Phantom's lair surprisingly shows up as a choice alongside Heaven and Hell. She decides to take it. They reunite and bond with each other, but the Phantom's haunting music of the night still stands in the way of their happy ending. He might not be able to put his dark side at bay alone, but with Christine's help, the outcome may change.


Mostly based on the musical.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters.

Frigid gusts of wind ran through the dark skies, howling, no rays of sunlight to chase them away. A graveyard stood below, cold and stony, row by row. Beside one of them lay several offerings: flowers, photographs, dolls, items of daytime's beauty. But directly in front of this grave lay a black rose with a ring beside it. A possession of the night.

Perhaps it was this gift that changed Christine's afterlife by providing her another pathway. Not two, but three realms presented themselves before her. Heaven, Hell, and a place of darkness. Land of the night. Where summers were cold and light was a distant memory. It couldn't be, she thought. This was somewhere she'd been decades ago, long lost in the never-ending abyss of her mind. But it was.

The Phantom's lair.

Christine hovered in the empty air, contemplating. She had questions, almost as many as stars in the sky. Death, after all, was overwhelming enough on its own. And now, on top of that, there were choices to be made.

The Phantom of the Opera. Angel of Music. She remembered his last words to her: "Christine, I love you." Words filled with unreciprocated affection. He was a troubled soul to the point of corruption. Dark chords sounded from his organ, filling the atmosphere with anguish. Cursed to wear a mask and remain in the depths of the dark, all because of his face.

The kiss they had shared. Christine did it out of pity, but there was no denying that something else stirred in her heart, even if this feeling lasted for only a minute. But because she chose Raoul - his very name now sounded bitter - her love for him stamped out those sparks of fondness she had for the Phantom. However, nothing could make Christine forget the look on his face when she stepped into the boat and left him forever. Not even time. His eyes held a kaleidoscope of emotions: as much sadness as raindrops in a flood, as defeated as a battered umbrella, yet more love than a thousand roses could every convey.

Would it really be wise to choose the Phantom this time? Fifty years ago, he tried to force her into being his bride. And twice, he had kidnapped her. Did more dangers than good await this path?

But his music. The very thing that made Christine's mind come to life at night back when she was young. The Phantom's voice would seem to dance across her bedroom, mysterious and ominous, growing louder in her dreams. A strange, sweet sound from a soul belonging to death that made Christine's heart fill with life!

The lair appeared to grow closer to her. Whether it was she herself who moved or the Phantom's home that did, it was difficult to tell. Did this mean she had made her decision already? Not once did Christine say this was her final choice. She cast a glance at Heaven, which looked smaller and more blurry than it was a minute ago. What lay there? Gold? Eternal happiness? There were no definite as to what treasures existed past those white gates. It seemed a risk to take this unclear path.

Christine took a deep breath - at least it felt like one - and nodded at the lair. Moving her head felt like a much more difficult feat than its simplicity back when she was alive. She jumped back as a music stand bearing an almost blank sheet of white paper rose up out of nowhere. On it were instructions: please write neatly on this paper the age you desire to appear as during your afterlife.

Age? She got to choose this too? Hesitantly, Christine picked up the skinny pencil and slowly spelled out 'twenty'. It was her favourite number. Immediately, her formerly wrinkled skin began to smooth out. Vein by vein, Christine's entire body sparkled in vivacity and renewed energy. Hands trembling, she cautiously reached out to touch her face as if she expected her fingers to meet flames instead. It was soft.

She was twenty years old now.

Christine watched speechlessly as the music stand gradually disintegrated into nothingness. Before she had time to fully comprehend what just happened, a flash of unnaturally blinding light swallowed her whole. The last thing Christine heard was her own scream.

It felt like she was falling at the speed of her captor itself, only sideways instead of downwards. An indefinite amount of time passed before the world stopped spinning and flickering torch lights appeared in her vision. Her feet, now still and standing upright, sensed a damp, uneven ground which started to drink the warmth from her body. Christine shivered and rubbed her hands against her arms in an attempt to stop more heat from escaping. Strangely, she felt like a living human once more.

"Christine, Christine."

A sobbing voice entered her ears and a wave of icy electricity passed through her being. With hesitance, she turned around and realized he had yet to notice her presence. With increasing anxiety, Christine took a couple tiny steps towards him. Barely visible amongst the threads of his dark cloak, he was sitting in his throne and facing the opposite direction from her. She heard sniffles and sighs.

Incapable of letting him wallow in lonely grief for any longer, she walked up to him with a pounding heart.

"Angel of Music."

She surprised herself with the fluidity of her words, unattainable for those of old age. Now once again blessed by youth...

Her words echoed into the dim light. The Phantom wiped away his tears in one sharp motion, turned around and his puffy eyes widened.

"Christine?" he asked almost timidly, as if he was expecting her to be angry at him.

She brought herself to smile in response.

"But," the Phantom's eyebrows narrowed in confusion, "How - why are you here? In Heaven is where you should be."

"And your lair I chose instead, you see. It was given to me as a choice." Christine replied with increasing confidence despite the coldness of her feet. There was nothing to be afraid of, she remembered, for she was already dead after all. Though at the moment, it physically didn't completely feel that way.

"Choice?"

"Yes. I don't know why," she said, looking a masked face that brightened every so slightly for a brief while.

"I don't understand. Why descend into the darkness of my prison when Heaven's limitless joy lies within your reach?" As he spoke, he slowly stood up.

"I no longer belong with happy daylight's speech," Christine started. "In my final years I have mingled with the dark, my only friend. This is why now, I long to hear the music of the night."

"To hear the music that I write?" the Phantom's voice dripped with wonder.

"To revel in the power of the music of the night," she half-sung, half-spoke. It was an absolute joy to be able to sing again after decades of having trouble just to speak.

He walked her over to his organ - pipes with a flair of nightly black - and sat down. Chords pierced the silent atmosphere and filled Christine's mind with memories of her days with Opera Populaire.

"In sleep he sang to me," the words, thought to be forgotten, seemed to come involuntarily, "in dreams he came. That voice which calls to me and speaks my name. And do I dream again? For now I find...the Phantom of the Opera is here...outside my mind."

He played more pompously, truly coming to life with his music.

"Sing once again with me, a strange duet." The Phantom's powerful singing brought forth in Christine a rush of nostalgia. "The loneliness I've felt grows weaker yet. And after all these years, the past rewinds! The Phantom of the Opera is here...outside your mind."

He played a musical interlude full of renewed passion.

"Sing for me, mon ange!"

She felt adrenaline coursing through her veins as her voice began to soar, a feeling that was greatly missed. Si la so la so fa so si... The notes came shakily at first, then smoothed out a bit as Christine continued onwards. Do...do...do... She imagined her voice lifting above the clouds. Mi...

The Phantom lifted his hands from the final chord with a sharp grace.

"Decades have passed since I last felt this much joy," he said, a smile forming on his lips.

"It has been a while since my voice last reached such heights as well," she replied, marveling at the lack of discomfort in her throat. Being a spirit had its perks.

"But the clouds of my sorrow it has successfully dispelled," the Phantom said, rising from his piano bench.

Christine looked off into the distance at the waters that surrounded them. Did they ever end somewhere? She walked closer to them, almost reaching the lair's edge. It looked not like water, but complete mist that drifted below. Something large nestled in between layers of this limitless misty substance caught her eye. It was the crumpled dummy of herself that her Angel of Music had made.

"Did you ever find some company after I left?" Christine questioned, still staring off into the abyss of mist. It could very well resemble the inside of her own mind.

"No." Without looking back, even before hearing him speak, she knew he was closely behind her. "Not a soul was willing to be my companion. Eventually, I had no choice but to confine myself to this prison and befriend loneliness himself."

The Phantom walked forwards and followed her line of sight.

"I saw no purpose in keeping what would only torture me and brought myself to toss the lifeless model of you away. Tears were shed that day," he said thoughtfully. His eyes appeared to be gazing beyond the mist, possibly seeing something Christine did not.

For once, no bloodstained monsters with knife-like claws, nor the shrieking sounds of his mother calling him a loathsome gargoyle were apparent in his dreams. After years of sinking into the despair of his nightmares, the Phantom finally saw a ray of hope. And for the first morning since he could remember, he woke up without beads of sweat on his forehead or erratic breathing. All because Christine was here.

He got out of bed and looked at the bedside counter, on which his mask lay. It was a symbol of fear, of concealment, of his banishment. Masquerade. Paper faces on parade.

"Good morning, Angel of Music," Christine said when he appeared into her view. A smile - wise yet innocent - hung on her lips. It melted a bit of the ice cage his heart had hid itself into ever since fifty years ago.

"Good morning, Christine," the Phantom replied, stopping right in front of her.

"How was your sleep?" Though she wasn't singing, her voice sounded melodious to him. After spending countless days listening only to the mist's whispers and his own dark music, it would make sense.

"Tremendously better than how it used to be," he said. Shivers crawled up his spine at the memory of his nightmares. Sometimes, the same one haunted him for multiple nights in a row.

"You used to have nightmares, didn't you?" Christine asked, noticing his behavior.

The Phantom didn't respond.

"You can tell me. Put your trust in me," she coaxed, moving closer to him.

"Yes, I did. They spawned from the depths of this dark lair, from my solitude." He paused, hesitant, but his ange's calm expression encouraged him to continue. "Every night was torment. Sometimes, creatures of the darkness chased me. They would catch me and rip my skin with their claws. Mercilessly, mercilessly."

The Phantom squeezed his eyes shut for a minute, eyebrows knit in fear. Christine looked at him, amazed.

"But not last night," he said more calmly. "Light found its way into my dreams and scared away those malignant monsters. There was a meadow with clear blue skies overhead, the colors so vivid I knew not why they could appear in the blackness of my mind. Sunlight brought warmth into my colorless eyes and I let it wrap around me. Gently, gently."

"That's beautiful," she responded, smiling. To her surprise, he returned it.

"It was." The Phantom exhaled, abruptly reverting back to an emotionless expression. "I have to play some music now."

Christine's eyebrows raised.

"You have to?"

"At times, music simply calls to you," he replied vaguely, heading towards his organ, which was sitting patiently for him.

Christine watched as the Phantom positioned his hands over the instrument. Why did his smile disappear so quickly? There seemed to be some underlying reason as to why he suddenly wanted to end the conversation, other than his music excuse. A man of mystery, she thought. Just rescued from eternal loneliness.

A C-minor chord vibrated the jagged ground Christine was standing on. Her slippers absorbed the shock that would have otherwise reached her feet. More followed in rapid succession, seeming to dim the sunlight from overhead. Then a partially chromatic, half-dissonant melody slipped from the Phantom's fingers onto the organ's keys.

Memories surfaced into Christine's mind as the notes danced through her ears. She remembered when Raoul broke her heart:

"Raoul?" she called him in a light-hearted manner. He didn't lift his eyes from his paperwork. Christine frowned.

"Raoul, what's the matter? Why don't you pay attention to me anymore?"

He sighed and stood up.

"Okay, Christine. I guess it's time to tell you." Nervously, Raoul scratched the back of his neck.

"What?" Her fingers started to fidget with the hem of her dress.

"I've, uh, fallen in love with someone el-"

"You what?!" Tears, like thorns, pricked her eyes.

"It's the one I met at the concert," he confessed, reluctant to meet his hurt wife's eyes.

"I knew you were hiding an affair," she muttered coldly, staring hard at the hardwood floor. It creaked in response.

"Look, Christine, I'm sorry. We...I still love you, okay? It's just that things have changed." Raoul cleared his throat and pressed his lips into a firm line.

"You're going to ask for a divorce, aren't you?" she asked, looking at her husband with a pained expression.

"I..." Losing courage to answer in the affirmative, he hugged her tightly. "Christine, I can't express how sorry I am. Honestly, this is not something I want to do." She wiped a stray tear off her face and took a deep breath.

"Okay, Raoul."

Trying to comfort her, he pressed his lips against hers, but the kiss lacked the passion that used to be there as recently as a month ago. Christine morosely ran her fingers down his thick hair.

"Let's," her breathing hitched, "get started on the divorce documents then."

Tears had begun running down her cheeks before she was completely aware of it. Quickly, Christine wiped them off. No use dwelling in old memories and getting emotional about it. But the agony of his departure floated on the notes of the Phantom's music, surrounding her. Not a minute later, the death of her second husband sprung to life in her head. He had been lying in a cold, uncomfortable hospital bed. His forehead nearly singed Christine's hand and the rest of his body was not much cooler. She recalled - no, relived - seeing Richard's eyes close forever while holding his hand. She relived her screams of his name, attempts to shake him back into life. Every effort was futile. Christine felt the crushing sensation of tears and a shattering heart as she collapsed onto the floor right then and there.

"Christine?" The Phantom's voice jerked her back to the present. "What is wrong?"

"Your music, " She sniffed and struggled to regain control over her breathing. "It triggered some memories."

"I didn't want you to spill tears," he said guiltily, taking another step closer to her. "Speak; your words will not fall silent in my ears."

"Only a few years after our marriage," she said with an unsteady voice, "Raoul wanted a divorce after finding another love. And decades from then, my second husband ascended to Heaven above."

"Christine..." Her Angel of Music seemed to be at a loss for words. His eyebrows knitted at the thought of the Vicomte doing such a deed.

"But," she looked straight into his eyes, "all this sadness is merely a few teardrops compared to your fate. You witnessed a love grow between Raoul and I, and broke your own heart by letting it continue. Afterwards, loneliness held you in its icy clutches for years on end. Cursed to drown in this lair's darkness with nobody to call your friend."

He exhaled audibly.

"More than once, I have had thought of succumbing to the mist below this rocky piece of land. Perhaps the demons in my dreams would cease to be if I ended my life. But defeat and solitude kept me in a state where I was not living, nor dead. Most of my days were spent motionlessly staring ahead. These dark forces seemed to drink my blood."

"Poor Phantom who has lived a life led by misery!" Christine exclaimed. Seeing him looking so grim brought a sympathetic frown to her face. She closed some of the distance between them.

"For a mortal soul, you have endured terrible enough suffering," he replied.

In a confident motion, she touched his mask. The Phantom flinched.

"Be not afraid. I will not harm you." Her pale fingers slowly drifted down it and Christine felt him relax a bit. She listened to both his and her breathing for a moment. "The dark will not take you away now that I am here."

"Now that you are here, I have little to fear," he joined in.

"Whenever you are in need, I will be near."

Her heart swelled with compassion as she spoke those last words.

Despite the permanent absence of nightmares, he could not find sleep very easily. Christine had touched him, and with this touch arose old feelings and uncertainty. Ever since she came back here, the Phantom wasn't quite sure how to act in her presence. One mistake or one overly gruesome detail could send her running away to Heaven. He still believed that was where she deserved to be. Not with this shameful gargoyle who had no positively intriguing tales to tell. Who had no charm to capture a lady's heart. He was a creature of nighttime's art, for whom nobody should have affection. A creature of the dark.

The Phantom found Christine turning the handle of his faded wooden music box. The gears began to move with a maniacal energy to the music: masquerade! Paper faces on parade! Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you...

"Why did you choose to keep this?" she asked curiously.

"It serves as a reminder for the reason why I was bound to this place," he answered. "Be the masquerade, my mother told me, and forever cover your horrifying face!" His voice was venomous.

"Tortured yourself even more with this box?" Sorrow leaked into her words. Everything around him seemed to serve this purpose. The Phantom was silent for a while.

"It was dear to me too," he said, kneeling down next to Christine. "I received the music box before my banishment to this lair."

"And that was where?" His expression of anguish turned into one of thoughtfulness.

"In Persia..." The Phantom drifted off, hesitant to continue. Should he tell her about his past?

"Yes?" She smiled softly.

"I was a magician there," he said, his fingers pressing into the box's outside wood. "Others knew me as...as Erik."

"Erik? That is your name?"

He nodded.

"For a time, I was of great fame. It was a wonderful feeling I often miss even now. The feeling of having a sea of admirers."

"And yet, there remains one. Me, I am your admirer."

In one bold move, Christine's hands were on his face. The action again caused him to flinch and hold his breath for a few seconds. What did his ange just say? Such a statement - though it melted the Phantom's heart like a blazing sun did ice cream - could only have come from her mouth in a dream, in a mere fantasy.

Before he had a chance to react, she pulled off his mask. Instinctively, Erik turned away from her.

"Christine." In his voice was frustration.

In response, she turned his head to face her. As Christine's fingers calmly reached for the scarred side of his face, the Phantom's hand quickly went up to stop her.

"I won't hurt you," she soothed.

Reluctantly, he dropped his defenses. Why was she doing this? This moment of complete confidence! Erik trembled slightly at Christine's touch, both in fear and anticipation for what she was to do next. After all those years, she had stayed a puzzle, an enigma.

Christine pulled him closer to her so that their noses were a pencil's width from touching. His breathing quickened, and so did hers. He remembered the time when she had kissed him in the presence of Raoul, the undeserving Vicomte. A sole memory of pure bliss in his tar-ridden existence. Perhaps Erik could create another moment like that one right now, except with even more joy.

He pressed his rough lips to her soft ones, suddenly breathless with a desire that had been hidden for decades. Christine wrapped her arms around him and for once, the Phantom did not react nervously to this action. The mist whispered around them, but its eerie words failed to chill his heart. She was his now, by his side, with him. Minutes passed, and neither of them wanted to stop. A little moan escaped from Christine. But it couldn't last forever. Eventually, they broke apart, panting for breath, the fire in Erik's eyes going out.

"Oh, Christine."

An almost foreign feeling, one of affection, tickled Erik's senses. He tenderly stroked his ange's light-colored hair, then her cheek. Not once did she back away in fright. How rare it was for a ray of sun - no matter how dim its glow was from life's challenges and burdens - to feel comfortable with a pawn of the night. How lucky he was.

How was Erik to love her? He was tainted by from anguish's cries, not the whisper of rose petals. Should he speak of nothing but sunrises? Be full of romantic surprises? Neither option seemed more realistic than just an unattainable dream. Oceans separated the Phantom from gentlemanliness. One beautiful moment didn't mean he could expect another to appear upon his lap without some excruciating effort. Of course, giving up was a possible pathway. But Erik wanted to love Christine, to be the reason for her smiles. He wanted to show her that his empty heart had been filled with life upon a single kiss.

Christine sat nearby Erik's music box, thinking as the eternal mist creaked in the night. It had been a long time since she had experienced a kiss of such passion. But, she knew, the Phantom needed her guidance in this game that was love. Fifty or so years of solitude told her this.

She rewinded the music box and listened as the melody trickled out. Perhaps they could do something involving it.

"Would you like to dance with me?" Christine asked as Erik neared her. He came to a stop, eyes widened.

"Dance?"

"Yes," she replied. He thought for a moment, looking conflicted.

"I'm not sure if I remember how to," the Phantom admitted, not meeting Christine's eye.

"Then I'll teach you," she offered, smiling.

"You wouldn't mind?" he asked, walking closer to her with an expression of awe.

"Of course. It would be my pleasure to," she said.

"Okay," Erik agreed a sparkle of gratefulness in his eyes.

"First, you stand with your feet side by side like this." She demonstrated and he followed. "Then you step forwards with your right foot, bring your other foot next to it and step backwards using the same footwork."

The Phantom tried out the steps Christine taught him a few times.

"Yes, that's it," she said. "For the pose, your hands go around my waist and I'll put my hands on your shoulders. Okay?"

Erik nodded, seeming to be a bit nervous. It must only be natural, for if Christine were in his position, she would feel the same.

"Are you ready?" she asked, her fingers running over the wooden handle. He tensed noticeably at the sight of his music box.

"Its melody is filled with curses and mocking," the Phantom said uneasily.

"But it's not too late to rewrite those lamentful memories with ones of smiles," Christine said softly. "Let us try and dance for a while."

"All right," he said slowly, beckoning her to start the music that haunted him still.

Erik's footsteps were correct, but tentative. It was clear that tormented thoughts - unimaginable for Christine as they were far beyond the burdens she had endured in her life - didn't cease to hang on his mind. But how could she dispel them?

"Let your spirit start to soar…" the words songfully tumbled out of her mouth so naturally that the surrounding mist itself seemed to be have fed them to her. The Phantom's attention shifted from the music box to Christine. He looked pleasantly surprised.

"...I'll help you live as you've never lived before," she continued to sing. Erik's movements became less hesitant.

"Softly, deftly, our dance unfurls its splendour," he joined in, "Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender."

"Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind in this love that you know you cannot fight. The love I share with the Angel of the night."

By now, the dance had ended and the Phantom's hands were cupping Christine's face. The music box's mocking tune was hardly audible.

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication," his breath brushed past her cheeks, "Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation."

In response, she reached for her Angel of Music's unruly hair, her heart beating ever quicker.

"Let this reality begin, let my darker side give in," Christine sang, almost entranced.

"You alone can make my heart take flight," he answered, leaning in. It appeared as if he too was spellbound. "Help me make my darkness into light."

She took off his mask, dropped it onto the ground, and kissed him feverishly. This time, Erik didn't become angry, but instead simply kissed her back with just as much fervor. Christine's heart stirred in warm adoration. His lips slowly moved down her neck, creating in her the chillingly pleasurable sensation she had truly missed.

My love, the Angel of Music.

Christine felt his fingers tremble a bit as they took hold of her shirt and she shivered as the misty air pierced into her bare skin. But Erik's touch warmed her again, his hands moving to caress her upper body. Despite their roughness, this elicited a moan from Christine. After all, the Phantom's imperfections were what drew her to him. Most possibly motivated by her sound of pleasure, he grasped the straps of her bra, unclipped it, and wasted no time in touching her breasts. Christine's breathing grew heavier and she felt her senses tingle with desire. It had been years since she had experienced such closeness, such intimacy. The mist and darkness that surrounded them couldn't have mattered less to her.

"Christine," Erik whispered, his voice seductively low and full of longing.

Upon looking into his fiery eyes, she found herself falling deeper into the enchanting spell that was the Phantom himself. Panting, he pressed Christine's body to his and kissed her with white hot passion. Unable to bear the feelings of pleasure in her while staying still any longer, she undid his cloak and began to tug on his shirt when he abruptly pushed her hands away from him. Christine's eyes widened in confusion.

"Christine, please, I don't wish to advance further than this," her Angel of Music said, breathing unsteadily.

"Why? You know I won't hurt you," she replied, trying to mask her frustration by speaking soothingly. How could he deny her the privilege of touching him when he had caressed her so mercilessly?

"I know…" Erik trailed off, turning his gaze to the rocky ground.

"There is nothing to fear, Angel. It's me you are near. I will start slowly." Christine gently took his hand. He looked up at her again and pondered her words.

Please?

"All right, but allow me to remove my shirt on my own," he replied.

Once he did so, she lightly placed her fingers on his trembling shoulder and gradually moved them down his back. The Phantom's skin was quite a distance away from being soft, but this mattered little to Christine. She felt him relax bit by bit until virtually no tension remained in his body.

He trusted her.

"Can I progress a little further now?" she asked. He nodded in response, seemingly unalarmed.

Christine leaned in closer and brushed her lips against his ears. Breathing more quickly, Erik reached out to stroke her neck.

"How did you know where I like to be kissed?" he questioned softly, clearly no longer fearing Christine.

"Just a lucky guess, I suppose," she answered, smiling playfully, before continuing to kiss him there.

In response, the Phantom moaned quietly and pulled her head in to minimize the distance between their lips. Before his could touch hers, however, Christine backed away a bit.

"I believe it is my honor to start this kiss," she said, maintaining steady eye contact with her Angel. Immediately after speaking, she pressed her lips to his, spilling all the desire that had accumulated in her. Erik responded with equal enthusiasm. Both of their hearts were pounding in breathlessness and continued to after they broke apart.

A moment of silence followed. It was difficult to picture the Phantom as what he had seemed like to her in the past - mysterious and even threatening - when she looked at him now. Oh, how time was capable of making such drastic changes.

"Christine," he started, breaking the quiet atmosphere, "I love you."

A wave of warmth washed over her at his words. The last time he had uttered them, she had ignored his sweet confession and ran off into the canoe with Raoul. Guilt sprouted like tiny thorns at the memory. How had she been cruel enough to brush something so meaningful off a shoulder?

"And my heart is filled with affection for only you, my Angel of Music," Christine said as meaningfully as she could, her eyebrows knitting together in desperation.

To her pleasant surprise, he gave her a smile. It was small, but undoubted genuine. She returned it, her eyes beginning to brim with tears, and wrapped her arms around him. Who knew the Phantom was able to wear an expression of such joy, such light? He must not have been completely enveloped by the night. A tiny ray of sunlight still hid amongst the coals of his spirit. And, with Christine's help, it could grow.

How invigorated Erik had felt during the intimate moment he had shared with his Christine. It was unlike anything he had experienced. Her soft skin, intoxicatingly warm kisses, and gentle touch remained in his thoughts even when the next day dawned.

The Phantom sat in his bed for a while, thinking. He had smiled at her - an act that felt strange and foreign - and uttered those three special words.

But now what?

The positive energy in him died down at the question.

His relationship with Christine had reached another level with yesterday's events. However, this probably meant more pressure on Erik to enthrall her with bigger and better plans, for her expectations were likely rising. After all, she had to teach him how to dance, which was embarrassing. Unimpressive, too.

With his limited knowledge of romance, how was he to continue charming Christine? He didn't know how.

She deserved palaces and Erik could only fashion up straw huts.

With a troubled sigh, he rose to his feet and took a couple steps in the direction of where Christine was before stopping. The mere sight of her made him nervous about how lacking he was. Talking to her would only intensify that feeling. The Phantom turned and walked towards his organ instead. Guilt burned in him, but nevertheless, he sat down on the bench and positioned his hands over the keys.

Time to wallow in darkness and misty sorrow once more.

It didn't take long for howling melodies and desperately crushing chords to pour out of his still corrupted soul and onto his instrument.

The Phantom of the Opera. That was all he was and will always be.

Stirring up the music of the night was and will always be his only true talent.

Christine jumped, her peaceful daydream shattering away, when Erik struck the first chord.

No, not again.

She could already feel her heart quivering in fear and grief. It wouldn't be long until the music took control of her emotions. Wanting to escape it, she tried thinking about the Phantom's smile. But it only made her feel worse.

Why did he have hide his sweet, loving side and return to the clutches of the darkness?

A series of eerie triads sent shivers up Christine's legs and arms. Endless layers of mist stared at her, becoming a cage in her eyes. As a thunderous melody materialized from the organ, tears - warm with despair and heartache - spilled down her once-caressed cheeks.

Images of Christine's second husband lying limp on the hospital bed flashed in her mind, maliciously vivid.

"Erik, please stop!" she shouted, knitting her eyebrows together in agony.

He simply ignored her and played louder.

Trembling all over, Christine took a shaky breath and sat down next to the music box, hugging her knees and continuing to sob. Why wasn't he listening? The last time this happened, Erik had stopped and apologized for making her cry. But now, he had plunged deeper into his world of blood-curling music.

It will all be better tomorrow. Perhaps this is just a one-day occurrence.

Unfortunately, she was wrong. Two more days of almost constant musical rain ravaged the lair and her attempts to allay it were futile. The only words he spoke to her were a monotonous, "Good night", when he went off to sleep. Christine could do nothing but weep until there were no tears left in her. What caused him to be this way?

Looking off into the foggy distance, she suddenly missed daylight and its offerings of dewy grass. How long has it been since she had seen innocent blue skies or bright rays of sun? Centuries, it seemed. This haunted lair -painted even darker with the Phantom's merciless composing - held little if no appeal for Christine.

She could leave. Adrenaline rushed through her at the thought. Now, even.

"Erik," she started loudly, walking towards him with a strange ferocity. He paid no attention to her presence. "I'm leaving here."

The music halted.

As Christine turned around to do exactly that, he firmly grabbed her wrist from behind.

"Don't." His voice was venomous, though it failed to affect her determined frown.

"You can't change my mind," she said steadily, struggling to pull free. "Your endless music of the night has made me ache for light. To Heaven I will go."

Erik didn't reply. Christine, using the remaining flames of her fury, managed to get her wrist out of his grip, promptly stormed towards the Phantom's Venetian canoe, and paddled away.

She was gone, this time forever. No second glances; she had decided. And he had nobody to blame but him. Erik looked hopelessly into the distance, unmoving.

Christine…

At least she would be safe in Heaven. Safe from him and his soul-tainting music.

It had been foolish of him to think he was the one for her.

The Phantom's chin quivered and his eyes grew watery. Why couldn't he be like a creature of daylight like everyone else? Why did he have to suffer in this dismal lair blocked from humanity?

Hide your face so the world will never find you.

Erik took off his mask and stared at it as he burst into tears. He thought he had finally found happiness, but it all slipped away. Once again, solitude had returned. Cold and bitter solitude, as binding as this cursed mask.

Darkness awaits you for eternity, hissed the mist, thick as ever. He turned around to look at it, his weeping being replaced by wide-eyed fear. No, not again.

You are loathed by all and nothing can change that. The chilling voice came from another direction. Erik covered his ears, knowing it wouldn't help.

No pity for you, murderer. Every word, particularly the last, felt like a slap in the face.

Forever to carry that blame on your shoulders. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Stop it!" the Phantom shouted.

You have no control over us, the mist replied, unfazed.

Madness was extending its talons towards him. Fiercely, he walked up to the edge of his lair and glared at his tormentors. Turning himself in right then and there would prove too painless for an undeserving gargoyle such as he.

Struck with an idea, Erik determinedly headed to his bedroom and rummaged through a couple drawers. Then there it was, glinting with promises of bringing him to a torturous end.

A knife.

She squinted as light lit up her eyes. What beauty. Christine got out of the canoe and walked through the white gates with almost playful footsteps. Every strand of grass, grain of soil, and drop of water caressed her fascinated senses. Finally no more mysterious clouds of mist, nor inklings of darkness.

This was paradise.

Her entire being felt lighter, as if she had become more of a ghost now. A park unfolded before her, complete with chubby-faced children staring in wonder while holding their mothers' hands, couples taking relaxing strolls, and bikers crunching through the gravel paths.

Christine broke into a smile and couldn't wipe it off her face. What appeared trivial to others was heartwarming to her. There was land as far as she could see. She was free.

She headed over to the gardens and delicately ran a finger under a sun-colored tulip's petal. Such softness, such innocence packed into the little plant. Christine gazed at the other flowers - daisies, marigolds, sunflowers, and calla lilies. To behold this myriad of colors - though it was a bit overwhelming - were a dream come true.

She turned back to look at the people again. Paired in twos and threes, they filled the atmosphere with laughter, jokes, and the scent of peanut-butter jam sandwiches. This was Heaven.

It would be even better to share this view with a companion.

Companion.

Her smile collapsed. She didn't know anyone here, nor had someone to talk to. Christine was trapped in lonely bliss.

A gust of wind sliced by. The other people were unfazed, but she shivered. Suddenly, the paradise wasn't so alluring anymore.

She bowed her head down and closed her eyes, replaying how cruelly she had left the Phantom's lair. Had it truly been the best option to take? Surely Christine could've at least bid him a semi-friendly goodbye.

All those times he so passionately pressed his lips to hers. That imperfectly perfect smile he had shown her.

Her heart crumbled.

Angel of Music.

She opened her eyes once more and found herself with a vision blurred by budding tears.

Erik sat in his throne, holding the knife above his forearm. He couldn't stop trembling. Finally, after so many years, he would end it all.

End the ultimately worthless darkness that was his life.

The Phantom could have avoided this dreary lair if not for that day.

That regretful day.

His foolish magician self shouldn't have lit the pencil on fire in the first place. It was meant to be part of an entertaining trick and remembered seeing those third graders' eyes grow bigger in wonder as he seemingly made it float in midair.

If only Erik had stopped there.

But he just had to use flammable chemicals as well. His confidence had taken the best of him.

He pressed the knife's blade to his skin. It felt invitingly cold.

First, one of the student's table caught on fire. It had rapidly spread to the poor nine-year-old's clothes and she had started crying in fear. She didn't survive for much longer.

The Phantom drew a line across his forearm with his knife and watched blood trickle out.

Then he had spilled a dangerous vial, which fed the flames. They ran up the walls and created a stunningly disastrous show of red and orange. The children had screamed and their supervising teacher tried to calm them down, but to no avail. This had all been his fault.

With furrowed eyebrows and less hesitance, Erik drew a few more lines, growing closer to his wrist. He deserved every bit of this agony. The more, the better.

When the fire had managed to reach his face, he had immediately fled the building through a window instead of staying to help the kids. What resulted was a permanent scar, but most importantly, the loss of fame and even friends. All because of one cool magic trick Erik had thought he could pull off. Most of those innocent students lost their lives or died the day after.

Murderer.

He dug the blade in deeper and faster with every slash. Red dripped onto his throne and then onto the ground, filling his vision.

"Take this and leave, troublesome Erik!" his tipsy mother had yelled at him, holding out a mask with fury burning in her eyes. "You'll be cursed to live in exile, loathsome gargoyle!"

As streams of blood continued to spill out, he felt increasingly light headed. Pain strangled his senses. His shaking hand pointed the knife towards the main arteries in his wrist. Now was the time to still his beating heart.

After all, the Phantom had long passed the point of no return.

Christine.

When she had come back to him, his life suddenly had a purpose again. He thought he would finally be loved again.

And for a brief moment, she had loved him. But not anymore.

"Me, I am your admirer."

"And my heart is filled with affection for only you, my Angel of Music."

Words all swept away like dust in the wind.

Tears scorched Erik's cheeks, burning more intensely than any fire could.

Do it now.

He pushed the unforgiving metal into his skin one last time.

Christine heard the sound of Erik's unsteady breathing as she stepped off the canoe.

Was he crying?

Cautiously, she walked towards him.

Upon getting a closer look, she saw the blood.

The blood.

"Erik!" Christine screamed, running to him. "What are you doing?"

He froze and turned to look at her, surprised. She snatched the knife from his hand, cut off a part of her skirt with it, and wrapped the fabric around the Phantom's self-inflicted injury, all the while trembling in horror. She stood motionless for a few seconds, and then not being able to keep stand it any longer, flung her arms around Erik and let her tears fall.

How could he have done this? It was entirely her fault.

"Christine, please stop crying." His voice cracked near the end.

She tried taking deep breaths, but a new wave of remorse hit her. Because of her rash actions, the Phantom had almost killed himself.

He could've been dead right now.

Even the mere thought tore her heart.

"I'm sorry," Christine choked out, letting go of him. "I'm sorry for leaving."

"No, I am to blame," he replied, keeping firm hold of his bleeding arm. Every word seemed to take considerable effort. "I shouldn't have selfishly played my music like I did."

"Why did you retreat into your darkness so suddenly that day?" she asked, sounding more composed.

A pause.

"Because I knew no other way," the Phantom said, pressing his lips together in a straight line -probably from agony- and gazing at the ground. "After confessing my love, I knew not what to say. I was afraid of disappointing you with my...romantic incompetence, Christine."

Disappointing her?

"Erik," she said with a rush of determination, "there isn't a single aspect of you that doesn't live up to my expectations. In fact, you've exceeded them. You're in no way incompetent to me. Don't worry about trying to be what others consider perfect because what you currently are is perfection in my view."

He glanced at her in disbelief, his eyes brimming with tears.

"I am?"

"Yes," Christine replied firmly. She kissed him fleetingly as a final confirmation and afterwards, looked worriedly at the blood-soaked makeshift bandage covering Erik's wound. "Is there anything I can do to lessen the pain?"

"Just stay here with me," he said, giving her a weak smile. Its faint light warmed her being more soothingly than any sun could. Resisting the urge to shed tears again, she smiled back at him.

"I will."

A moment of silence passed.

"What did Heaven look like?" The Phantom asked, staring directing in front of him.

"There were tall trees, different varieties of colorful flowers, and other souls carrying joyful conversations," Christine answered thoughtfully. "Much like on Earth, I'd say. You know, this is actually more like paradise because my Angel of Music is here."

A teardrop ran down his face at her speech. Speechless, he kissed her tenderly on the cheek.

"I love you," Erik said softly.

"I love you too."

More than words could describe.

Several days later, Erik woke up with a feeling of ambition. The dim atmosphere did little to diminish it.

Perhaps today was the day he would act on his recent thoughts.

"Christine?" The Phantom approached her. She turned around, raised her eyebrows a little at his unmasked face, and smiled at him. It could very well melt the entirety of Antarctica.

"Yes, Erik?"

"I want to take you somewhere important to you," he said, a bit of nervousness leaking into his voice. She looked at him questioningly.

"Where?"

"You'll find out later."

"Okay." Christine nodded.

They got into the canoe and Erik started to paddle it towards the open, mist-covered lake that didn't seem to have an end. There was only the sound of gently swishing water and his ever-increasing heartbeat that he hoped she couldn't hear.

The ambition was dissipating with every second, being replaced by inklings of fear.

You have nothing to be anxious about. It will go well.

His nerves refused to calm.

Erik shifted his gaze to Christine. She sat quietly - at ease - staring off into the darkness. Her sun-caressed hair spread itself freely over her shoulders in a way that appeared so naturally perfect. No part of his ange was not worth admiring, especially in this musing pose she was in at the moment. However, the sight of Christine only further fueled the Phantom's anxiety at what events were to unfold, so he concentrated on the rowing once more.

A half-asleep world - peaceful grass and a few tombstones- revealed itself before them. Christine snapped out of her reverie and leaned forwards, trying to decipher what names were embedded in them.

When the two stepped onto the earth, she took a closer look at each and halted her footsteps upon finding the one bearing her name. Erik picked up the black rose and ring he had put in front of it not too long ago.

"When you ended your mortal life, I gave this flower to your grave as a symbol of my undying affection for you," he said, offering the rose to her. She took it gladly.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"Not more beautiful than you are," he replied, having felt a sudden need to voice his mind's words. Erik walked closer to Christine and gently ran his fingers down her hair.

She could probably hear his pounding heart now.

Do it.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one eternity," he sang. "Save me, lead me from my horrid past."

In realization, Christine's eyes sparkled with brimming tears. She held out her finger and the Phantom slipped his ring onto it.

"Say you'll share with me each night-"

"Each morning," she joined.

"Anywhere you go let me go too." Erik poured every drop of his feelings into those lyrics.

"Love me," they sang together, "that's all I ask of you."

He pressed his lips to Christine's and felt her raw, damp tears roll down. Two hearts stringed together with the thread of love.

My Christine.

Alongside her he was and will always be.


End file.
